Alice (15 page)

They were in some kind of storage room, and everywhere they looked, there were bodies of girls. Alice could tell they were girls only because they were naked. All of their faces had been gnawed off, ragged bits of skin remaining where the Walrus’ teeth had missed. There were bite marks elsewhere too, but Alice did not want to look too closely. She did not want to look at all.

“What kind of a man does this?” she said. She fought the impulse to hide her face. The time for hiding was over, she realized. She must see the monster for what it was.

“He’s not a man,” Hatcher said. “No man would do this.”

Hatcher was angry, Alice realized. Much angrier than he’d been on any occasion before, and that did not bode well. When Hatcher was angry he tended to be more . . . spontaneous.

“There’s Dolly,” he said, and pointed to a body at the top of one of the piles. “That stupid girl. That stupid, stupid girl.”

Alice wasn’t certain how he could identify the thing as Dolly, but she would take Hatcher’s word for it.

“Yes, she was foolish,” Alice said. “She thought she would be rewarded for telling him about me. And you.”

There was one exit other than the trapdoor. Hatcher went to the door and listened.

“There are people out there,” he said. “Sounds like quite a lot of people, actually.”

Alice joined him. It did sound as though there was a great deal of activity on the other side of the door. She heard that buzzing murmur that happens when a large group has gathered in one place—the shuffling of feet, the ebb and flow of small conversation, the occasional shout to a friend or the jostle that results in an indignant cry.

“What do you think?” Alice asked.

It didn’t seem wise to rush in with the intention of hacking their way through a crowd of people. They might be the Walrus’ soldiers, in which case Alice and Hatcher might remove a few while surprise was on their side before they were overwhelmed. Or they might not be soldiers, but innocent people, and Alice did not want to harm any innocents.

Though really,
she thought,
anyone who is near the Walrus can’t possibly be innocent. He’s a criminal. At best they are men come to use the girls that the Walrus didn’t eat. At worst they work for him, stealing those girls from their lives, keeping them here when they would try to escape.

“Wait,” Hatcher said. “Listen.”

Alice concentrated on the noise through the door. The crowd had quieted, and an announcement was being made. She couldn’t quite make it out, but the crowd roared in response, cheering and clapping. A moment later they quieted again, and the same procedure repeated.

“It’s a fight ring,” Hatcher said, pulling his ear away from the door. “Alice, this is perfect. We only need to slip into the crowd and then follow when they leave. There must be an exit nearby for such a large group to be present.”

Alice hesitated. “What if they are simply those who work for the Walrus, not men from outside? There’s no assurance of an exit then.”

“We know there is no exit from here,” Hatcher said. “And we’d best leave this room before the guard changes and we’re discovered.”

“What happened to your cap?” Hatcher asked.

Alice rubbed the short hair on top of her head, surprised to find the hat missing. “I must have lost it somewhere. I didn’t notice. There have been so many strange things happening.”

“Your face is so distinctive,” Hatcher said. “Take mine. It’s easier to cover your scar with it. If we are fortunate, the room will be hidden in shadow.”

Alice pulled the cap low over her eyes. The plan was very risky, but it did seem they had no other option available. They must leave this room before they were cornered.

The crowd roared on the other side of the door, and Hatcher judged it time to slip inside. His choice was a good one, as the men standing just on the other side of the door were preoccupied with the action below in the ring. Hatcher immediately scuttled along the edge of the horde, distancing them from the door to the underground tunnel. Alice’s scarred cheek faced the wall, which was lucky, because anyone who glanced at her would not be able to see the distinctive mark.

The room was arranged like a round arena, with wooden benches stacked on risers above an open center. It reeked of sweat and tobacco and desperation as men shouted themselves hoarse in favor of the fighter they’d bet on. Girls in various states of undress roamed through the crowd offering trays of refreshment for sale.
And a peek of the other merchandise on offer,
Alice thought angrily as several of the girls were groped by drunken men.

In the fight ring was a skinny man, ropy with muscle and wearing only an eye patch and a pair of ragged pants. His opponent was— Alice stopped and stared. Hatcher realized she was no longer behind him and went back to her side.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A rabbit,” she said, and pointed.

The skinny man’s opponent was, indeed, a rabbit—a large white rabbit with pink eyes. His fur, probably once fluffy and soft, was matted and covered in copper stains like faded blood.

Hatcher frowned. “Not
the
Rabbit. The one we’re looking for.”

“No,” Alice said, shaking her head. “He must be another poor creature given Cheshire’s growing potion, like the rats.”

The man danced and spun and struck the rabbit, who returned the blows only halfheartedly. Even from this distance Alice could see the sad, broken expression in his eyes.

Then the whip came out of the darkness, striking the white rabbit on the back, and she saw the man who held it.

He was, indeed, monstrous, though not in the way Alice expected. Dolly’s description had given her an impression of someone so enormous they could not move, a massive bloated blob without form or feature. The Walrus was not like that.

The Walrus was very tall and powerfully built, a mass of muscle slightly gone to seed. His belly was large, reflecting his appetites, but his arms were twice the size of Alice’s legs put together, and his legs were twice his arms. His face was partially hidden in shadow, though Alice thought his eyes glinted in cruel amusement as the rabbit fell to the ground.

Now she could see the striped marks of blows old and new on the rabbit’s back, and her heart ached. The throng of men shouted for the rabbit to rise again, and as he did the skinny man punched his pink, twitching nose. The rabbit’s whiskers, Alice noted, were broken to many different lengths and his front right tooth was cracked down to a very small nub.

“We can’t leave him here,” Alice said, as Hatcher put his hand on her elbow and pulled her along again.

“We can’t sneak a giant white rabbit from the ring directly under the Walrus’ nose,” Hatcher said. “Besides, what will we do with him after? Take him with us to meet the other Rabbit?”

Alice wrenched her arm free. “We can’t leave him here,” she repeated, mulishly. “He’s an innocent creature.”

“The world is full of innocent creatures,” Hatcher snapped, drawing close to her ear so no one would overhear them. “You were one yourself once, and no one saved you.”

“You saved Hattie,” Alice said.

“She wasn’t innocent by the time I found her.”

“Yet you still saved her.”

“What about all the girls we left behind in the Caterpillar’s? What about the other screaming inmates of the asylum that we let burn?” Hatcher asked. “There was a reason we didn’t save them. We can’t save everybody.”

“No,” Alice said. “We can’t save everybody. But we can save somebody. And I don’t want to leave the rabbit behind.”

“Why?” Hatcher asked. “Why now?”

“He’s helpless,” Alice said. She felt she couldn’t fully explain what the rabbit represented to her, the way the sight of him made her heart ache. “He doesn’t belong here. He belongs in a field, nibbling dandelion greens. I don’t know, Hatch. I just can’t leave him. I can’t bring myself to leave him.”

Hatcher sighed, his grey eyes full of some unidentifiable expression—something like amusement and frustration and love and anger all mixed together.

“I knew one day you would find your line, Alice,” Hatcher said. “I just didn’t think it would be right now.”

“My line?” Alice asked.

“The line that you won’t cross. You won’t leave the rabbit. You won’t cross that line.”

Hatcher folded his fingers together and cracked the knuckles. “I suppose this has been coming for some time. I didn’t follow my own advice.”

“What advice?” Alice asked.

“To finish him off,” Hatcher said. “That was my mistake, and I should fix it. Stay here.”

He pushed his way through the mob until he was almost to the bottom bench. Then he kicked a man in the back so that he fell forward on his chin, knocking into the man in front of him. Hatcher climbed on the bench as his victim struggled to get to his feet, tangling with the other drunks around him. Everyone’s eyes went to the scuffle in the crowd, including the Walrus’.

Hatcher took his axe from his coat and raised his voice loud above the murmuring crowd.

“GRINDER!”

CHAPTER
15

Alice’s heart was in her mouth. She had not intended this, that he would declare himself before the Walrus and all the gathered throng. Her mind had been concocting plans of secrecy, spiriting away the poor rabbit in the dark of night.

The Walrus stepped from the shadow into the light of the ring. His face was wide, with long whiskers that ran down his jaw, and the eyes were small and cruel. The whip dragged on the floor beside him, loosely clutched in one huge hand.

A huge,
gloved
hand.

(
Huge hands in white gloves, slicing a large piece of cake and urging her to eat, eat more. A heavy, frightening laugh as Alice shoveled the cake into her mouth, not knowing how to stop even though she wanted to, even though her stomach hurt and her head spun in circles.

The same dark voice speaking. Alice wasn’t supposed to hear.

“You told me I could have her, that you bought her for me.”

“And I did.” The second voice soothing. “But it is my right to break her first.”

“She’s no good to me if you break her magic,” the first voice growled.

And then Alice knew that harm was coming to her, and she tried to run, but the man with the gloved hands caught her, held her with in his giant grip, and the Rabbit smiled, stroking his hand over her hair, pulling her braid until it hurt.

“Pretty little Alice,” he crooned. “Why do you want to leave the party so soon?”
)

The Walrus, the Grinder, whatever he was called—he was the other man at the party. Dor had sold Alice to the Rabbit, and the Rabbit had intended to give her to the Walrus to be— (
eaten
) It was even more horrible than being the Rabbit’s toy. The Walrus had meant to eat her, to take her magic away, to become a Magician himself and so stand as an equal with the Caterpillar and the Rabbit and Cheshire.

Now Hatcher taunted the Walrus, and might be killed, all because she felt sorry for the poor rabbit forced to fight in the ring for the Walrus’ amusement.

“Nicholas,” the Walrus said.

His voice sent shudders of fear down Alice’s spine. It was a voice that had forgotten how to be human, how to love and care and fear the darkness. It was
part
of the darkness now, his heart mired in greed and desire and pain.

“So you do remember me,” Hatcher said.

The Walrus clenched his jaw. “How could I forget? Though I understand they don’t call you Nicholas anymore.”

He gestured at the axe in Hatcher’s hand, and Hatcher nodded in acknowledgment. Everyone was silent and still, watching the Walrus and Hatcher.

“Recently I sent some men across town to do some business for me,” the Walrus continued. “Some of those men did not return. They were found in a tavern, with axe marks all over their bodies.”

Hatcher said nothing. Alice wished she could see his face. His body was relaxed, completely unconcerned.

“A girl came to me. Just a little serving wench with only half a brain, telling me a story about a madman who killed all the men in one blow, a madman who was accompanied by a girl dressed as a boy.”

The Walrus scanned the crowd behind Hatcher. Alice did not breathe. If the Walrus saw her, he would recognize her in a second.

“There was something special about this girl who accompanied the madman, according to this little tale-telling fool,” he said. “Something I could hardly countenance, as a matter of fact. But then some of my men also spoke of a shadow, a monster that drank the blood of the dead. Do you know that some of my best soldiers wake up at night screaming now, scared that this creature will come for them? I knew then that the stories the serving wench told must be true, for only a Magician could raise such a creature.”

Alice nearly laughed aloud. The Walrus thought she had raised the Jabberwocky, that she controlled it. As if she would ever want to do such a thing. As if such a monster
could
be controlled.

The Walrus paced slowly in Hatcher’s direction. The men on the benches in front of Hatcher rapidly dispersed at his approach, causing a sudden stampede toward the exits. Alice was pushed against the wall, elbowed in the stomach and neck and face as men fought to escape before something terrible happened. There was a definite sense in the air that something terrible
would
happen, and that you did not want to be in its path.

The skinny fighter slipped out of the ring, following the jostling crowd. The rabbit tried to crawl away from the Walrus, his paws inching across the dirty floor, his back bleeding from the strike of the whip.

The Walrus kicked him, and the rabbit cried out.

“Leave him alone,” Alice said.

The last of the gamblers trickled out, though the sound of their passage—shouting voices, trampling feet—echoed back into the nearly empty room. All that remained was Alice and Hatcher, the Walrus and the rabbit.

“Ah, there you are, my Alice. I’ve been expecting you for so long. I could hardly believe it when that stupid serving girl told me you were alive,” the Walrus said. He gave her a long look up and down as she went to Hatcher’s side. “You’ve gotten quite skinny. Hardly enough meat on you to bother with.”

He showed her his teeth, small and dirty and copper-stained.

Alice gave him a cool appraisal in return. Inside she was trembling, her heart hammering away, but she would not show it. She would not give this monster what he wanted. “You’ve gotten quite fat. I doubt you’re fast enough to catch me, in any case. ‘The Walrus’ is quite an apt name for you.”

The Walrus lashed out with the whip then. It might have struck Alice’s face, given her a mark on her other cheek to match the one from the Rabbit, but for Hatcher. He sliced the end of the whip cleanly away before it could reach her, the blade so close she felt the breeze made by its passing.

The tip fell to the ground with a loud clatter, and Alice saw that the leather was edged in silver, so that it would hurt more when it struck. She gave the Walrus a look of disgust.

“You think you’re quite a man, don’t you?” she said. “Torturing creatures weaker than you because you’re afraid of a fair fight.”

“I fear nothing,” the Walrus said.

A sudden thought occurred to Alice. “What about me?”

His lips twisted in a smile of disbelief. “Afraid of a skinny girl? You’re nothing without your guard dog.”

“Now, you know that’s not true, Walrus,” Alice said in a schoolteacher tone. “You said yourself your men returned telling tales of a monster made of darkness, and that some of them wake up screaming.”

“Ruined, they are,” Walrus said, his voice bitter. Alice noticed he had been speaking very deliberately before, that his accent had been well-bred, and now it slipped away a little. “What am I to do with a bunch of mewling babies? I sent my best men out, and Carpenter’s soldiers were nothing but a lark to them. But you were there, with your illusions.”

Alice couldn’t help it. She laughed. Hatcher gave her an odd look. The Walrus’ face registered surprise at her total lack of fear.

“He thinks the Jabberwocky is an illusion,” she said, giggling.

Hatcher laughed too, then, long and loud. The Walrus stared at the two of them.

“You’re not telling me that it’s real?” the Walrus scoffed. “You don’t frighten me. It’s all talk, a show you put on to drive my men off.”

“Well, you can think that if you like,” Alice said. “You’ll know better when he comes this way. He’s quite real, and he’s not attached to a leash.”

Alice hoped the Walrus would think the Jabberwocky was her pet, but that she had loosed him for reasons of her own. She’d like it very much if he were afraid of her, she realized. She wanted him to quake and cry, as so many girls no doubt had before he’d finished with them.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” the Walrus said, but Alice thought she saw concern that hadn’t been there before.

She stepped off the bench then and into the ring. Hatcher stayed where he was. Alice knew he would make certain the Walrus would not touch her.

The big man shuffled his feet a little, not backing away from her, but unable to conceal his uncertainty at her behavior. She was not acting like girls usually acted in his presence, she knew.

But she was not interested in the Walrus. The rabbit had continued its slow progress toward the edge of the ring, panting with the effort. Alice veered away from the Walrus, deliberately turning her back to him.

She had to trust Hatcher now. Without him the Walrus would try to take her, would have tried already. He was off balance from her behavior but he would soon remember that he considered her nothing more than a thing to be used and thrown away.

The rabbit paused as it heard her approach, its eyes wide with fear. She held her hands up to show she meant no harm.

“Shh,” she said. “Shh, I won’t hurt you.”

“It’s only a dumb beast,” the Walrus jeered. “He thinks you’ll kick him like all the rest. He can’t understand you.”

“Yes, he can,” Alice said, and smiled encouragingly at the rabbit as she knelt beside him. “What are you called?”

She could see the disbelief mixed with hope in his expression. His mouth moved, at first making no sound. Then a surprising baritone emerged.

“Pipkin,” he said.

“That’s a lovely name, like the name a mother gives its littlest one,” Alice said, stroking the rabbit’s paw. The fur was matted and grey.

“I was the smallest of my litter,” he said. “Not that you would know it now.”

“Do you think you could try and sit up, Pipkin?”

The rabbit shook his head. “My legs are broken.”

“In this fight?” Alice asked. She had not seen the skinny man strike such a blow; nor had the Walrus’ whip touched Pipkin’s legs.

“Before this,” he said. “They have been broken for three days, but the Walrus has forced me to fight for him anyway, and whipped me when I was unable to stand. He was angry that the rats escaped, so angry.”

“Why didn’t they take you with them?”

“I was already broken,” Pipkin said. “I couldn’t run, and they had their children to think of.”

“What’s he saying?” the Walrus demanded. “You understand all that squeaking?”

Alice ignored him. “I wish I could do something for you, Pipkin. I wish I could help you stand again.”

A little breeze whistled past her ear, and she thought it sounded like,
Wish granted.

And then, even softer, so soft she was almost entirely sure she imagined it:
Remember, a wish has power.

A small violet bottle appeared in her left hand. On the label was the face of a smiling cat. A tag attached to the neck read, “For Pipkin.”

She could only hope it would not harm the rabbit further. Cheshire clearly watched over them, but Alice was unsure why. His help wasn’t always helpful either. She was still irritated about the maze and the creature that had nearly eaten Hatcher.

She uncorked the bottle and told the rabbit, “Drink this. It will make you better.”

“Where’d you get that?” the Walrus said, then caught a glimpse of the label. “That damned Cheshire. Damned interfering little pipsqueak.”

Wind rustled through the room again, and it sounded like laughter. Cheshire was the one who’d given the Walrus the potion to make rabbits and rats large in the first place, and so it was only right, in Alice’s mind, that he provide the cure.

Pipkin opened his mouth so Alice could pour the mixture in. He swallowed, closing his eyes and placing his head back on the ground.

Alice waited. Pipkin groaned, his body contorting in pain. Still she waited. The rabbit’s body went stiff and straight as a board, his face a rictus of pain. Then Alice saw his tooth, the broken tooth, grow to its proper size again and match its mate.

All of Pipkin’s fur fell off his body suddenly, as though someone had sheared him, and fresh new white fur grew in just as fast, covering the scars on his back. His left foot tapped the ground in a rapid tattoo, and then he burst up in a tremendous leap, soaring high above Alice and landing before the Walrus. He rested on all fours like a proper rabbit instead of one playing at being human. He was suddenly very beautiful and, Alice thought, very fierce. She had never noticed before that rabbits had such very sharp claws. Alice stood and went to his side. It was like standing beside an enormous polar bear (she’d heard a story about polar bears once, though she couldn’t remember where), glossy and dangerous. The Walrus did not appear very much like a monster now. He looked like a child who’d been caught doing wrong and knew his punishment loomed.

“How long have you been here?” Alice asked, rubbing her hand into Pipkin’s ruff. The fur was so soft she wanted to bury her face in it, but that probably was not polite. She’d only just met this rabbit, after all.

“I don’t know how long in human time, and I couldn’t see the moon to show the passing of the seasons, but I am much older than I was when I first arrived,” Pipkin growled. “The Walrus took me from my mate and children, from a place in the country, far away from all the filth and stink of this City. He brought me here, and fed me potions, and made me large so he could use me to fight. Some people were, apparently, getting tired of watching rats and wanted more exotic creatures. There was a cat too, and a horse and three dogs.” “What happened to them?” Alice asked. She was watching the Walrus very closely. He was cornered now, and cornered animals will behave unpredictably.

“They died,” Pipkin said, and snarled in the Walrus’ face.

The big man took a step back, then two; then his legs knocked against the first row of benches around the ring. The Walrus glanced from Alice to Hatcher to Pipkin, and his face said he did not like his chances.

“I thank you for helping me,” Pipkin said. “And it seems as though you have some history with this man, and came seeking revenge.”

“Not on purpose,” Alice said. “We hadn’t intended to come here at all, but since it happened, Hatcher thought it best to finish the job he started so long ago.”

Alice knew the Walrus could not understand the rabbit, but he certainly could understand her.

“Hatcher, as you call him, hasn’t a chance of finishing me,” the Walrus said, but his voice was not as steady as it should have been.